Lost Boys
by Frantik
Summary: Trust is a little thing, a fragile, special thing: so hard to accumulate and so heart-wrenchingly easy to break. Miles learns this the hard way, the brutally hard way, and starts to realize that he needs learn how to confront his own mistakes.
1. enterlude

**enterlude: the end/beginning of it all.**

* * *

_**28 June, 2018.**_

He woke the next morning next to empty bedsheets, cold and wrinkled and smelling tauntingly like Phoenix -- his fists clenched in the baby blue fabric as the memories of last night chased the last cobwebs out of his sleep addled brain. Part of him wanted to stay like that, curled into a guilt-ridden ball in their bed -- could he really still call it "their's," now?

Another part of him wanted to bolt out of bed and run down the stairs into the kitchen and into the living room and _everywhere_, to call out Phoenix's name and _god_ how he hoped he was still there, how he hoped that for some ludicrous reason, Phoenix was _still there_, he didn't know what on earth he would do with himself if...

Another involuntary clench of his fists. He could feel the sheets, feather light and damp between his fingers. Feel, not see, since he could sense a stinging sensation behind his eyes and knew he couldn't _dare_ open his them, he had no right to cry, no right at all, no right at _all_. The look his lover had given him before -- hurt, betrayed, angry, _hurt_ -- flashed through his mind and for the umpteenth time Miles cursed himself and his stupidity, fighting the growing urge to risk it and bolt upright and not care whether or not he had the right to do anything because right now the most important thing was to find out, however painful it might be, whether or not Phoenix was still _there._

Another clench. And another. He tried to screw his eyes shut, to not think, to try and run, run! That had always worked before! _Goddammit, he's not here he's not here, don't fool yourself into thinking he might, there's no way_ --

At long last, Miles kicked the bedsheets up and away and staggered over to the closet, pulling on his weekend clothes -- he remembered how many times Phoenix had scoffed at his attire, claiming that Miles didn't need to dress too fancy when the only company they had was each other. He felt a choking sensation in the back of his throat and blinked rapidly before pushing the bedroom door open...

He took a single step into the hallway, a single, dreadful step -- the corridor was dark, foreboding, and everywhere he turned he saw Phoenix's face, that _look_ pooling accusingly in his vision from every shadow, from around every corner...

Miles felt his feet drag as if weighed down by lead and he swallowed, forcing himself forward, to face the reality of what he'd done, oh god he couldn't _do_ this --

A light. A smell. A combination that chased away the clawing shadows, their accusatory hands shrinking back under the shine of the bright glow and the warm smells fading up from the stairs...

He stopped dead.

Unbelievable, impossible -- he took another tentative sniff at the air, and his eyes widened as he realized that, yes, improbable as it seemed, _impossible_ as it seemed, the lovely scent of sausage and eggs was wafting up from the kitchen. Their kichen. _Their_ kitchen. Miles didn't think he'd ever smelled something so good in his entire life.

Miles nearly tripped over his own feet as he took the stairs two steps at the time, stumbling down from the dark hall upstairs into -- impossible, _impossible_, his mind kept shouting -- the brightly lit kitchen, as if this was any other morning and everything was _normal_ and godammit he wondered whether he was dreaming, his mind finding a sick satisfaction in torturing it's host, or maybe Phoenix had decided to throttle him in his sleep. That was a thought.

But everything else fled, scampering from his head the instant his sleep-lidded eyes adjusted to the light and, yes, Phoenix was there, oh god he was _there_, he was still _here_ -- standing in front of the stove in his royal purple Kings sweatshirt, muttering a curse as he nursed a burnt fingertip, eggs sizzling merrily on the frying pan he held tentatively at arm's length. Normal, crushingly normal. How many times before had be bandaged that finger of Phoenix's?

Dumbfounded, in denial, Miles stood there, just staring, wide-eyed as Phoenix – Phoenix, _Phoenix_ -- sensed his presence and turned to face him...

It was that _look_ again and for the millionth time he cursed himself, cursed himself over and over for thinking that things could even _possibly_ be ok, be _normal_ after all the whispered 'I'm sorry's' that had done nothing but make him sound like a shallow fool.

"Phoenix..."

The other man gave Miles a long, hard look before turning his attention back to more important things, eying the eggs to make sure he didn't burn them again, like he had the first time this morning, the remnants of this attempt sticking out haphazardly from the trash bin. Miles noticed how Phoenix's hands trembled ever so slightly as he clutched the grip of the pan, knuckles turning white and the prosecutor swallowed and felt that choking sensation creep up on him again...

He stood there looking like a fool, not knowing what to say, even if he could...

A few more minutes passed before Phoenix deemed the eggs to be cooked to his satisfaction, separating them into two plates, one for him and, somehow, one for Miles -- _I should have offered to help, dammit_ -- and he continued to watch detatchedly as Phoenix then proceeded to take both plates over to the small wooden table in the center of the kitchen, his mouth set in a hard line.

Phoenix settled himself down, and then here was a barely noticeable nod in Miles' direction. He blinked and stared at Phoenix, who had moved on to giving rapt attention to the sausages he had separated onto their plates before Miles had come in. There was another nod, this time in the direction of the food Phoenix had placed opposite him, what Miles' presumed to be his breakfast, _Miles's_ breakfast, Phoenix had made him breakfast, despite everything and _shitfuck_, that choking feeling returned.

He sat down opposite Phoenix, tentatively, afraid that the other might burst into tears at any second -- or punch him in the face, an option that Miles greatly preferred. He knew he deserved it, most of him hoped that Phoenix _did_ do it, he knew it would make him, at least, feel better...

And there he goes again, only thinking of himself, dammit dammit _dammit_ --

"Edgeworth."

The sudden use of his last name stung Miles as if Phoenix _had_ reached over and hit him, although this cold, piercing word managed to hurt him more than any fist or sword could. Phoenix was looking at him now, beautiful blue eyes hard with a mixture of emotions -- anger and _hurt_ and iron-strong determination that Miles had grown to so admire over the years -- and he could only barely bring himself to return Phoenix's gaze, words rolling and dying on his tongue as he thought of something, _anything_ to say, desperately searching, finding nothing...

"...what are we going to do?"

The words were out of his mouth before it even registered that he'd said them and he mentally slapped himself -- he'd never been the most socially adept of people but _god_, couldn't he think of something a little more...comforting? Helpful?

Phoenix just gave him a deadpan look. "Well, what do you think we should do?" was Phoenix's response, his clipped, even monotone scaring Miles more than if the other had shouted oh god oh _god_--

"I...I imagine you wouldn't want to be anywhere near me after what I told you last night--"

Phoenix raised an eyebrow.

"--but I also think we could..." Miles swallowed, fighting to keep his words going, "...talk. Talk about it."

A hanging silence. Suffocating, pressing around him on all sides, he felt as if he was back in that elevator sixteen years ago, choking, fighting for air--

"What's there to talk about, Edgeworth?" Phoenix interlaced his hands and leaned his elbows on the table, bowing his head and sighing. "I thought you made it pretty clear last night. I can't trust you."

Well. Mile knew this was true, of course, but that didn't change the fact that those words might as well have manifested and punched him straight in the stomach.

The breakfast Phoenix made him continued to cool as it lay untouched in front of him.

"Phoenix--"

"Edgeworth." The other man cut him off, giving Miles a look that made whatever the prosecutor was going to say die in his throat. "I know you well enough to know that you know that what you did was wrong. I know you're not going to deny it. I _know_, Edgeworth, I'm not done yet!" He snapped, as Miles had opened his mouth again to try and interject. "But just because you know and I know that what you did was wrong doesn't change the the fact that it happened. And, well. I can't trust you."

There was another period of silence, heavy and awkward.

"...what do you want me to say, then?" He somehow managed to choke out, marveling at how his voice remained somewhat steady whilst every other part of him was spinning out of control. Those words from before repeated over and over in his head like some kind of sick mantra, sad and cold and brutally honest, a sound that brought that familiar choking feeling back to full force; he had caused that noise, those words, him, Miles Edgeworth...

Him, no one else. It was all his fault, all of it, dammit all to hell he could never do _anything_ right--

So caught up was he in his own cesspool of guilt and self pity that Miles almost missed Phoenix's tart reply. "Honestly, I don't think there's anything you can say at this point in time, Edgeworth. Nothing at all."

"...I don't want to loose you, Phoenix." He could barely hear his own voice, it was so quiet, so desperate -- he hated himself for sounding so pitiful, but god, he was going to loose him, he didn't know if he could take it, he _couldn't_ why did he think he could even try, he had no fucking _right_, none at all. But he had always been a selfish coward, he knew. So unlike Phoenix.

The other attorney gave him a cold look that turned his blood to ice and muttered, "Well, you should have thought about that sooner, huh?"

Miles clenched his fists into the soft fabric of his pants as the other stood up and walked over to the window, the birds' morning songs cut off abruptly as Phoenix slammed the window shut with a surprising amount of force. An ominous silence hung in the air as Miles stood up as well, noticing that Phoenix was shaking, oh so slightly, barely noticeable. Shivering with a feeling Miles couldn't identify, that he didn't _want_ to identify because god he looked so _hurt_, all because of him. Miles Edgeworth.

"Phoenix--"

"_Miles!_" the other snapped, his nails grinding painfully into the countertop as he clutched at it for support, his back towards Miles as he leaned over the sink, looking as if he was about to be sick. "I can't...I _don't_ want to talk to you. Not right now. Not like this. It'll only make things worse."

Miles hovered by the table, uncertain, doubting that the situation really _could_ get any worse, struggling against the surging impulse to scoop Phoenix up in his arms, comforting him until his trembling stopped and that _look_ left his eyes...but he had no right to do anything like that, and he highly doubted Phoenix would let him in the first place.

But he couldn't just _stand there_ --

A cheery, lively tune drifted in from the next room, along with a faint, distinctive sound that could only be made by something vibrating against a wooden tabletop...

Both men jerked up at the sound -- both of them recognized the tell-tale Steel Samurai ringtone.

"...Phoenix?"

The phone continued to ring and Phoenix just stood there, staring out the door and into living room, his eyes windows to some kind of battle he appeared to be fighting within his head.

A deep. shuddering breath. The insistent ringing finally ceased, and all was quiet again.

...and then, before either man could do a thing, the jingle restarted again.

Maya was quite well known for her tenacity.

Another controlled breath from Phoenix. He seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion. Another breath, then a whispered word, so quiet Edgeworth barely heard it...

"Out."

Miles blinked. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees as the Steel Samurai ringtone quieted down again, only to resume moments later, just as it did before. He tore his eyes away from the door to stare at Phoenix, who was giving him a shadowed look he couldn't decipher, even with all his skill at Phoenix-deciphering. "What...?"

"You heard me. Out. I want you out of here. Now."

_No no no no no --_ "Phoenix--"

"Shut _up_, Edgeworth!" Miles flinched as a loud bang reverberated throughout the kitchen, Phoenix's fist shaking from the spot where it made contact with the table, those ocean blue eyes drilling into him, eyes that he had once claimed were one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen...he still stood by that claim, even if, at this time, they were absolutely terrifying.

It was his turn to try and control his breathing. In, out, in, out. "...if that's what you want." He took a step away from the table, towards the door, dragging his eyes away from Phoenix's, fearing that his head might explode if exposed to that drilling look any longer. In, out, in, out. "I-I...I understand. I'll... leave."

In and out, and in again, waiting a response, hovering at the kitchen door --

"Good."

Phoenix lead him to the front door, as if he couldn't find his own way there -- the two-story condo had, once upon a happier time, been both of their homes. Phoenix had relished in being able to move out of his cramped twelfth floor apartment and Miles had just been happy to be living with Phoenix, not caring that the he was used to living in a much larger complex.

That choking feeling again...

He dragged his feet over the landing, stepping out into the humid June air, a heavy morning wind tossing his bangs every which way. Normally, he would be annoyed at the damage to his perfectly groomed hairstyle, but at the moment, he could honestly care less.

He turned, slowly, gray eyes meeting deep blue for the third time this morning, a slew of words and phrases and actions bantering around in Miles' head -- this couldn't be happening, it would have been better if Phoenix had just left, this...this _disownment_ was worse than anything he had fretted about last night as he had laid awake, listening to Phoenix's fitful sleep far across the bed...

There was nothing left. Nothing at all.

By now, he had lost count of the number of times he had screwed up in his lifetime. It was quite a list.

"...this is goodbye, then."

Phoenix's soft words were like knives slicing into his chest, tickling his heart with their glittering blades and making it lurch with unparallelled despair. "I'm sorry." How many times had he tried that, now?

"You've said that already."

"I know. But I am. I'm so, so sorry."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow at the man on his doorstep, that _look_ returning to his eyes as he stared down at Miles, unmoving. "...I wish this hadn't happened. I _trusted_ you, Miles. I trusted you with everything."

Everything...

Miles felt his throat close as he heard those words. Trust, trust, it all came down to trust...the man who had sent him a letter every single day for fifteen years, the man who had believed in him when he hadn't even believed in himself, the man who had brought so much good into his life, whom he loved with ever fiber of his being...

Such a pure person, and he betrayed him.

He lost the trust of the man who _always_ trusted people, no matter what...

Miles didn't think he'd ever regretted anything as much as he did right now, at this moment, reaching out instinctively to clutch at Phoenix's hand...

"I love you."

He looked at Phoenix as he said this, his voice strong, steady, more than it had been the entire morning. He meant it, he really did, even if it didn't mean anything now, he loved Phoenix so much, so much, so damn _much_, he didn't care if it was too late, it didn't matter if he sounded pathetic and needy but he needed Phoenix to know, even if the other didn't believe him, even if Phoenix was disgusted by his touch.

He felt Phoenix's hand jerk away from his, saw his own choking sadness mirrored in those sapphire eyes, his own regret, his own love--

"Well, you sure have an odd way of showing it."

Miles didn't know what hurt more -- the sound of the door slamming shut in his face, or the muffled sobs that were barely audible from the other side.

* * *

**tbc!**

**Note: **Pay close attention whenever I mention dates. The chapters won't be in chronological order because being confusing makes me feel intelligent. ~


	2. enterlude 02

Why was he running away again?

Absentmindedly fiddling with the corner of the magazine page. Miles wasn't really reading it as much as he was just trying to look normal, normal, like he was even close to being normal in these circumstances –

"Hello, everyone, this is your captain speaking…"

He jerked more than he should have at the sound of the airline intercom, cursing his tightly-wound nerves and apologizing softly to the middle-aged women in the aisle seat next to him, who merely nodded and gave him a look of concern before returning to her novel. He sighed and leaned his head against the side of the aircraft, gazing out the window with tired eyes. So tired, he was sick of this, this…ugly cowardice he couldn't seem to shed, this was three times now he had fled, fled across the world where he hoped so one would find him…but somehow, they always did.

So tired…

"--sir?"

A flight attendant was leaning over the woman's seat to shake his shoulder, gently. He managed to half focus on her, surprised at how blurry his vision suddenly was – did he fall asleep? "Sir, are you ok? The plane is about to take off, you need to buckle your seatbelt…"

"_-- ou ok?"_

_Of course he wasn't ok, he was anything but ok, his mentor had just been exposed as his father's murderer, goddamn that stupid idiot for thinking he could be anywhere even remotely close to ok—_

_"I'm fine, Wright--"_

He batted the woman's hand away and muttered that, yes, he was fine, and proved this by reaching down and_click_ went his seatbelt as he locked himself in.

She still looked concerned, damn her. "Are you sure?"

_-- Of course he wasn't sure, he was anything but sure, but there was no way he was going to say that to Phoenix, of all people. "I said I'm fine, Wright. Do not make me repeat myself."_

_That look again, concerned, caring, intoxicating -- godammit why wouldn't he just_ go away --

He jerked his head in a shaky nod, hoping it looked convincing enough for the flight attendant, who seemed to (finally) get the message and, biting her lip and remaining silent, proceeded to check the rest of the passengers, leaving him alone with the woman who was now too absorbed in her book to pay any attention to him. Thank goodness.

Another sigh. Miles pressed his fingers up against the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm himself down. Needless to say, it wasn't working as well as he would have hoped. Why was this –

_-- Of course Phoenix just had to be stubborn enough to not leave him alone. Not that he particularly minded – in fact, loathe he to admit it, Phoenix's concern was more than welcome, a guilty pleasure to know that there was someone that felt they could care for someone such as himself. Again, not that he would ever admit that. They were both so stubborn. Stubborn, stubborn fools, although Phoenix was by far the better fool of them both –_

-- happening to him? Miles clenched his jaw tight in the wake of his throbbing headache, fighting off the flashbacks that relentlessly paraded in his head, taunting him, mocking him! Even his subconscious was aware of how much of an utter moron he was, how pitiful, so pitiful! He found himself leaning against the whitewashed walls of the aircraft again as he felt the ground tremble and shake beneath him – fight it, fight it, it's only the engines, only the engines! – panic bubbling just beneath the surface, as it always did whenever he rode on a plane, barely managing to keep it down. Why couldn't he get past this? Why couldn't he get past anything? Pathetic, so pathetic –

_-- Phoenix's eyes were on him again, the other man reaching out and then hesitating, not sure of what to do, how to take it in, he wasn't expecting Miles to be in this bad of a shape! Had he done the right thing, exposing the truth? Seeing Miles like this, wrought with suppressed emotions the prosecutor didn't know how to give vent to, he wasn't quite sure. "…pathetic?" Phoenix echoed, blinking down at the prosecutor sitting at the desk, whose fists were knotted in front of him, a slight shaking only barely visible as the attorney took a hesitant step forward towards his courtroom rival. "Edgeworth, what on earth would make you think that?"_

_A shaking fist met the wooden desk and Phoenix leapt back, as if he'd been slapped, now slightly fearing for his life as he eyed Miles warily. "Shut up, Wright. You don't know, you don't know anything--"_

-- pathetic, yes, he hadn't changed at all, had he? DL-6, SL-9, and then there was _that_, that stupid, _stupid_ thing that had finally brought everything crashing down around him, around _them_…

He really had fucked it up this time, hadn't he?

A jolt and he was back to the present again, feeling a light pressure pushing him back into his seat as the plane curved up into the nighttime sky, panic subsiding now that the floor was relatively still. It was eleven o'clock at night, watching the Los Angeles lights fade into pinpricks far below, the city being engulfed by clouds until he couldn't see anything but a sea of curling black, the signal lights on the airplane's wings the only break in the monotony of sky. Twelve hours and he'd be in Germany, why was he going back there? It's not as if he had any pleasant memories to beg him to return. No, no…

"—_re you lonely?"_

_Shocked, he looked sideways, not expecting anyone to approach him, it was midnight after all and he actually didn't know what he was still doing here, at a bar of all places._

_"…what?" Dumbfounded, and slightly buzzed from the fine German liquor, it was the best retort he could think of. He was, after all, didn't everyone he even remotely cared about think he was dead? Stupid, stupid…_

_The other man's grin widened, a strange expression in his face, what was it? Blue eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses that glittered in the dim lights, blue, blue, a light, stereotypically German blue, not the dark, sea blue of Phoenix's. Phoenix, Phoenix…._

_"Perhaps I can help you."_

_No, no –_

This time he actually groaned, the pain practically unbearable, the memories practically unbearable, Miles pressed both hands to his forehead, a desperate attempt to relieve the pain pounding behind his eyes. Pathetic, pathetic! Again, the woman beside him appeared worried and he hastily waves a dismissive hand in her direction. As if he needed total strangers pitying him.

His vision blurred and he felt another flashback clawing at his mind and, no, he was too exhausted to deal with this now, maybe he should just go to sleep, it wasn't as if his memories were going to leave him alone, anyway! At least, in his dreams, there was a chance of him not remembering them once he woke up –

"_-- ou're back."_

_Miles stiffened and looked up, alarmed, to where Phoenix stood in his doorway, voice echoing in the previously silent office as the attorney took a step inside, regarding the prosecutor with a strange look behind his eyes – wonder, anger, love, hate – and Miles had to look away because, no, he couldn't see that look in Phoenix's eyes, no, he wondered if he was going to start crying—_

_"…yes."_

_"Why did you leave?"_

_Did he have an answer? –_

Run away, run away…

Why was he running away again?

He was in his office, cluttered and nostalgic as always, comforting after the events a few days prior. Leaning against the windowsill and dully staring out into the nighttime sky, a numbing sensation still pumping through his veins, allowing him to appear cool and collected when, no, he was anything but that. He figured Miles was on another plane to Europe by now, running away again? Why did he think he could just…get up and leave like that? Well, ok, he had kicked Miles out, certainly, but that didn't mean the prosecutor had the right to hop up and leave everything behind for him to clean up, dropping a bombshell like that out of nowhere and then just _screwing everything up –_

Phoenix groaned and pulled his knees up to his chest, shifting on the office chair and continuing to look out at the night life from his fifth floor office.

".…ick! Nick!"

He jerked up and bam went his head as it collided with Maya's jaw, rubbing at his spikes as Maya bit back a swear and massaged her chin, laughing at the same time as she turned on her heel to set a bag down on the desk – fast food, he noticed. Couldn't she learn to make some _noise_ when she moved? The Feys were spirit mediums, not ninjas!

"…Maya. Shouldn't you be back in Kurain?" Well, yeah, she _should_ be, but duh, she was here. Why did he always ask such stupid questions? Stupid, stupid…

The girl tch'd and seated herself on his desk – her was about to say something along the lines of "that's what chairs are for" before he realized that he honestly didn't care – and reached into the bag she had brought to pull out a burger, go figure. "Your phone."

Phoenix blinked. Oh, right. The phone. How many times had it rung? Six?

He flinched again as Maya shoved something in his face and continued, "You _always_ answer your phone." Oh, she'd gotten him a burger, too. "…well, on the fourth time, at least, although sometimes you sound kinda annoyed when you do. But!" She said this all with her mouth full of meat, waving her midnight snack around to elaborate. Phoenix could have sworn he felt a crumb or two land on his face.

And, well. He couldn't help it. He smiled. A tiny, grateful smile.

…only to shrink back as Maya leaned dangerously close to him, burger-breath in his face as she scrutinized him. "Bags under your eyes," she noted, frowning, "Red streaks on your cheeks, chapped lips, not answering my phone calls! Nick, what _happened?_" She pulled back and crossed her arms over her chest, worry shadowing her eyes as she continued to eat away at her burger, concerned.

"…you know, that's a good question," Phoenix muttered, his voice icy-bitter and so _cold_, a dull, piercing monotone, Maya had never heard him talk like this, ever! It was…honestly, it was terrifying. Motherly instincts left over from all the times she had channeled her sister went on rampage mode and she slammed her burger down on the desk before forcefully inserting herself next to Phoenix on the, admittedly small, office chair, bumping the attorney sideways so that he was halfway sitting on the chair, while the rest of him leaned against the window.

There was a second of stiff silence during which Phoenix contemplated what was going through Maya's head, before his assistant tch'ed and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her warm cheek against his shoulder and muttering, "I leave for one week to go on vacation with Pearly, and this is how I find you when I get back? Geez, Nick, you really are hopeless, huh?"

Phoenix allowed himself to be embraced by the younger girl, moving away from the window to lean against her and thank god, there was someone in this goddamn world he could still count on, unpredictable and immature and ridiculous as she may be. "…that's probably true." His voice was softer now, more hurt than bitter. Not that it was any less frightening, really.

"…but, seriously. What the _hell_? I mean, something didn't…" Maya halted, fearing that she was about to tread into forbidden territory, alert, alert! "…something didn't happened to Mr. Edgeworth…?"

_--"Well, you certainly have an odd way of showing it."_

_SLAM went the door and then he was alone, alone, back against the barrier between him and Miles and no no no this couldn't be happening, it couldn't, impossible, this kind of sick fiasco only happened in sitcoms, no fucking no –_

_The strength in his legs vanished and he slid, down, down, a dull thump and he was on the ground, trembling, with his hands pressed against his face to try and stop the tears that had suddenly appeared, where did they come from? Hadn't he sobbed enough this morning? Crybaby, crybaby, grade-school jibes coming back to taunt him, cry, baby, cry –_

He didn't even know his arms had moved, but there they were, wrapped around Maya with his hands clutching at soft cloth as he clung to her, like a pitiful, drowning sailor grabbing at a lifesaver, holding on for dear life and fighting the waves determined to claim him as their own, his face in the crook of her neck as her own grip around him tightened. Why was he doing this, he was supposed to be calm, calm! Why was he --

_-- such a moron, why didn't he talk, godammit, he knew Miles, he knew him, such a coward but brave enough to admit it, Miles, Miles, beautiful, cowardly brave Miles. The Miles he knew would be too frightened to try and fix things as they were now, as if he himself had any right to talk, considering that fucking_ brilliant _act of disownment he'd shown the prosecutor. How hard had it been for Miles, how long had he held that in, how hard, how hard it must have been, and to finally come clean and godammit he was such a fool, such a fool, they were both such fools, but Miles was by far the braver fool of them both –_

No, _no_, not again, he wasn't going to cry again, especially not around Maya, he didn't need her pity, no no no no, he bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut, fight it, fight it, he was supposed to be strong, the strong one, here –

"Nick--"

_-- memories, memories, they were all he had left, really. Memories of Miles when he was an idealistic child, who sobbed when he couldn't fold a paper crane, who wanted nothing more than to be a defense attorney, a great defense attorney, who was so shy and awkward but a dear friend, nonetheless. Memories of Miles when they met again after years and years, cold and unfeeling and different, tragically so, a Miles that Phoenix was determined to save, no matter who accused Miles, doubted Miles, even when the prosecutor had done so himself. Memories that the two of them had shared, short and fleeting, after Phoenix had finally begun chipped away at his icy exterior, after he'd learned that their feelings for each other were shared. Happy, sad, sad, happy, mixing together into one precious pool of reminiscence, treasured, irreplaceable, since Miles was gone, gone! Dead and gone forever, the last of the memories being of a shall slip of paper, "Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death," dead and gone, dead and gone! What had happened, they were happy, so happy, at least, Phoenix had thought they were happy, he wondered if he had really known Miles at all –_

-- and then there was this, just when he thought things were getting better, that it was all going to be alright, Miles might as well have committed faux suicide again, because he was gone, gone!

The realization was like the dull thud of a hammer in Phoenix's head, resonating throughout with the soft echo of _gone, gone, gone_, and godammit it all, he began to cry again, softly and quietly into Maya's shoulder, feeling weak and hopeless and stupid, so pathetic, pathetic! He shook his head, desperate, hoping she would understand, still biting his lip to hold back the explanation Maya deserved, that he couldn't let himself say, no, that would make it all the more _real_, wouldn't it?

"Nick…?"

Run away, run away!

* * *

_A/N: On a slighty but not completely unrelated note, anyone who would be interested in being my beta for the rest of this melodrama, please give me a shout! :_


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